|
First
Reading
|
Psalm |
Epistle |
Gospel |
| Acts 7:55–60 |
31:1–5, 15–16 |
1 Peter 2:2–10
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John 14:1–14 |
Last week it was noted that John's Gospel was likely written for some early Christian communities that had been challenged by a few false leaders who attempted to steer followers away from Jesus and get them to follow them in stead. With this background, the injunction insisting that Jesus is the way and the truth is far less arrogant and abrasive than it first appears to our hearing.
Today's Gospel is set at the last supper in Holy Week. It is hard to believe the disciples would not have been troubled and anxious. Things were obviously coming to a head and it was uncertain how restrained the authorities would continue to be, how the crowds would behave, and how Jesus would ultimately react. Philip and Thomas speak for all the disciples in pleading for definite answers, for firm reassurance against an ominous future. They also speak for us. Often we don't want to deal with the unknown or face change, not because we don't want to grow, and not because we don't recognize that what we have is far from perfect, but because we don't want to lose treasures we consider so precious. This is at the heart of Thomas and Philip's concern. They don't want to lose Jesus' fellowship, the companionship of the other disciples and followers, and the Gospel itself that gave their lives so much meaning and hope.
Yet rather than giving the disciples exactly what they request, Jesus says I am the way, the way to love and care for people, the way to live, and the way to die. Follow me on the journey, and stations for shelter and protection will appear for you. The meaning of the Greek word for what is translated in the Gospel as dwelling places is a bit fuzzy, but there is substantial evidence to suggest the term was used to refer to a native Aramaic word describing a temporary night-stop for a traveler. Part of what Jesus said to the disciples is that within God's embrace, and especially within the church, safe and secure way stations will be provided, not to stay in forever, but to use on the journey.
I'm reminded of the huts for hikers that are built at day's intervals along the Appalachian Trail. Every twenty miles or so from the trail's beginning up in Maine on Mt. Katadin, down some two thousand miles to its end at Springer Mountain in Northern Georgia, is a shelter and a clean water supply. Usually there were some emergency supplies too, a frying pan and a few plates, a couple of canned goods, and a supply of firewood. Courteous hikers would always leave more firewood at these shelters than they found. No two huts were exactly alike. One I stayed in long ago in Vermont was a converted garage, but some are regular cabins with large cast iron kitchen stoves, others are rough lean twos. None are made for extended occupancy, but they do keep one safe from the elements, and one may fall asleep and awake refreshed and able to begin the next day's journey. In one sense these huts protect what is so precious, namely the human life and the health of hikers allowing them to rest and then to be able to continue on, despite sudden storms and the strangeness of the terrain.
Most of us have heard the tale about a seeker of wisdom who traveled thousands of miles to find a renowned sage who lived in a cave on a remote mountaintop. After many trials, the seeker reached the sage, and asked "how does one survive evil and adversity, how does one deal with success and victory, and what lesson is useful to remember in good times and in bad." Ah, said the sage "all you need to remember is four words: This too, will pass."
Part of the job of way stations is to remind us of that." This too, will pass." The controversies that seem to threaten to destroy the witness of the church of God, dilemmas we don't understand how we will ever solve--divisions and heresies, they too will pass. That is why the remark by a professor at Muhlenberg College that appears in this month's Eagle jumped out at me this week: "Ministry isn't always what we go and do, It's what we do as we go."1
We can't stop here in our time and any more than the disciples could hide behind closed doors in the upper room for very long. Jesus knew the disciples would overcome fear, and venture out on the Emmaus road as well as go fishing on the Sea of Galilee again. Jesus also knew that the highs of Easter and Pentecost, like the experience on the Mount of Transfiguration would also pass. Way stations are places to rest, to take off our heavy packs that burden us, to provide a shelter of refreshment, and then bid us along the way of discipleship, assuring us there will be more stations up ahead. Jesus beckons us on the way . The way he has lived, the way he loved, the way he provides for us. For the way is also the path to God.
And
I offer this to you in the name of the Living God, Amen.
